


Adventure Awaits

by moonmoth (greyvvardenfell)



Series: The Arcana WWI AU [4]
Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:41:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23570020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greyvvardenfell/pseuds/moonmoth
Summary: Palace servant Portia tries to convince Princess Nahara that they should run away together.
Relationships: Portia Devorak/Nahara
Series: The Arcana WWI AU [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1696537





	Adventure Awaits

**Author's Note:**

> For the Fictober prompt: "It will be fun, trust me."

Portia crept across the plush carpet, willing her slippers into silence. Too much rested on being able to escape the Alexander Palace without notice tonight. Julian’s latest letter, folded and refolded so many times the paper no longer crackled, rested heavily in the pocket of her apron, the address of a Petrograd boardinghouse scrawled in his near-indecipherable hand along the bottom of the page. _Tsarskoye Selo won’t be safe for much longer_ , the letter warned. _Get out while you still can, dear sister. Please. Don’t make me come in after you._ And, damn him, Julian was just foolhardy enough to make good on his threat.

But she had no intention of leaving alone. The servant’s entrance near the kitchens would be unmanned from midnight to 12:15; it was all the time she’d been able to buy with her friends in the guard. Portia snuck a glance at the ornate grandfather clock standing obstinately at the end of the hall, a sentinel whose bald white face glowered at her like it could tell she was breaking rules. She scowled back and didn’t resist the urge to stick out her tongue at it. She’d always hated that clock. But she couldn’t linger. The needle-thin hands already pointed to 11:36, and she suspected she was in for a wordy discussion.

Nahara’s room was smaller than her siblings’ by her own choice, sparsely decorated but still comfortable and neat. As if she’d been expected, Portia didn’t have long to wait in the hall after tapping their special knock on the dark-paneled door. Nahara, her many rings removed for the night, ushered her inside before any other prying Satrinava eyes could emerge from their own bedrooms at the sound.

“How’re you holding up, Hara?” Portia rested her hands on Nahara’s broad hips and peered up into her face, brows furrowed in concern. She looked tired, strained from the confinement of the newly-fallen.

Nahara shook her head, a sardonic smile curling her upper lip into a snarl. “These Bolsheviks treat the family like we haven’t half a mind between us. From what you were telling me, I expected them to be civil, or at least willing to cooperate.” She gathered her hair to one side and flipped it over her shoulder. “They most certainly are not.”

Portia sighed. “I got another letter from my brother. He said everything’s already falling apart internally.”

“Is he safe?”

“For now, I think. I guess, anyway. He and his partner are planning to stay in Petrograd for a while. And, well…”

Calloused fingers swept along the line of Portia’s jaw. Nahara’s strong, sword-hardened arms could have easily lifted her whole body and carried her anywhere she wanted, but tenderness was not beyond her. “Yes?”

“Well, he, um. He…”

“You came to tell me that you’re leaving.” It wasn’t a question.

“No! I mean, uh, not… not exactly.”

Nahara raised a pale brow, her golden eyes ablaze in the lamplight flickering from her writing desk. “What is it, Pasha?” She moved her hand into the thick red hair that fell in untamed waves down Portia’s back.

“There’s room in the flat my brother has for two more people, is what.” Her cheeks bloomed like roses, pink and soft. “Would. W-would you—?”

Abruptly, Nahara pulled away, her spine ramrod straight as though she’d been hit from behind. There was no anger in her gaze, only confusion. “I… I couldn’t. My duty is here.”

“Hara, your duty ended when the Czar abdicated.”

She clenched her fists. “My siblings…”

“Nazali and Navra will be safe in India. Ilya said he already wrote to them. Nasmira is with Nadia in Vesuvia, so they’ll be fine too. It’s just you, Nafizah, and Natiqa even in the country, and both of them are protected by their connections with other governments!” Portia reached out to her, clasping her hands. “You’re the only one who doesn’t have somewhere to go, or someone looking out for you.”

“I would enjoy seeing these buffoons try to take me on.”

“They wouldn’t give you a fair chance and you know it. Of course you could beat them back one-on-one, or even three-on-one, or four, but against a firing line? Or worse?” Portia tried, and failed, to keep her tears from spilling over. “T-they’re just waiting for the opportunity to make an example out of someone, Hara. Please, please come with me before they pick you.”

As she wiped Portia’s tears away, Nahara considered her choices. Natiqa’s position as international ambassador would severely impact any chance the Bolsheviks had at legitimizing their government should harm come to her. Nafizah, as beautiful as she was, wouldn’t be much better: she was too enigmatic to make a good martyr. If she were a Bolshevik, Nahara realized, she would choose herself as the sacrificial lamb to keep the rest of her family in line. She was too outspoken to be an ally, too martial to be kept prisoner for long, and too selective with the company she kept to be as easily manipulated as others within the court had.

“Have you already made arrangements?”

Portia held her breath, twisting her hair through her fingers, and let it out again in a rush. “Sort of. There’ll be a fifteen-minute window to sneak out through the kitchen, and I have a packed suitcase hidden in the sluice room.”

“How were you going to get into Petrograd?” Nahara asked, frowning.

“The… train?”

“They don’t run after midnight.”

“Oh.”

Crestfallen, Portia stared at the luxurious Ottoman rug Nahara had salvaged from the purge of all things Central Powers at the start of the war. Then a warm hand touched her arm, sliding up to hook behind her neck and tug gently at the roots of her hair.

“I think you can leave such details to me, kitten.”

The small room lit up like a harvest bonfire in the wake of Portia’s grin. “You mean you’ll come?”

“Why, I must!” Nahara laughed, raspy and gentle, and lifted Portia into a kiss. “I do believe my duty lies with you, now, as well as my safety.”

“Oh, Hara!”

They whirled around together before collapsing onto the bed in a cascade of giggles. Nahara sat up first, still smiling, and began to braid her hair while watching Portia out of the corner of her eye. “Could you fetch my riding trousers for me? Those will be most comfortable to walk in, I suspect.”

Halfway off the bed, Portia froze. “We’re gonna walk?”

“We’ll be detained if we try to saddle the horses, or steal a car.”

“It’ll take all night!”

“Oh, Portia.” Nahara slid off the bed and took her hand, bowing like a dancer before a waltz. “We can keep each other warm, and entertained. I have no doubt about that.” She winked before twisting Portia into a low dip, the top of her head nearly touching the floor. “It will be fun. Trust me.”

Flushed, her lower lip pulled between her teeth with delight, Portia whimpered softly as Nahara brought her upright again. “There’s no one else I’d rather run off into the night with,” she said.

“Nor I, dear kitten. Now, adventure awaits.”


End file.
